The Revenge Stimulus

Summary: It is the year 1891, siblings James and Emily make their way to Australia, where Emily is kidnapped by a convict's wife. The Chase is on, Emily and her new love flee to England to escape certain death

Chapter 1

The eerie quietness was more than expressed
that morning, when we woke very early to pack our most important belongings
into two leather trunks.

We were leaving home.

Home.

A soft word that had that familiarity to it
that could not be replaced by any other common word. A word attached to the
communality of safety and love, though love had not been present in this house
for years. Tortured silence echoed through the halls. It made them sacred and
untouchable like the cloister corridors of a monastery. And maybe that's what
it was. A shrine to the ones lost. My sister, Emily, and I both knew that we
would miss this old museum of a house. Stuck in a time long before we had
claimed our first breaths. Not for the appreciation of art, but for lack of
money. Though the former was the most popular excuse. Modernity had not spread
to this household and the wealth of industrialisation was even further off.

I turned to my sister, taking in her youth
and her naïveté. What made her the child she was, so wrapped in the blankets of
societal security and well-cushioned homestead. Both being taken for granted by
her. And she put on a brave smile for me in return. I knew it was hard for her,
a fifteen year-old, going to Australia. It had its advantages and
disadvantages, but for now we had to look past the latter. We would have to
adapt to a new lifestyle.

To the changes. Though most would be
unbearable. For her not for me, normal rules did not seem to apply to my little
sister, she was not as adaptable as most her age. She was a Cancer by birth.
Her comfort centred on routine, and of course she had a soft spot for the house
that nursed her simple, child-like beliefs and provided her with the security
of a child that still had her parents.

"Em, you'll like it there; it's warm
and dry all year around, and if you're lucky, which you're known to be, you can
help me with my work!" I chuckled as she scowled at the thought of
paperwork and important meetings, her expression darkening even more when she
realised I was teasing her.

"Forgive me." I smiled. She
ignored it completely.

"Will we see the inmates?" she
asked, her expression brightening, eyes glowing with anticipation. She had not
had a lot of contact to the gruesome of the world, being cut off from the East
End and living in a small, but respectable townhouse. They would have torn her
apart.

"Of course!" I winked whimsically
at her, she responded with an approving smile.

"Pass me your bag." I gestured
towards her trunk but she took no notice of it and sat down, looking around one
last time.

I was about to reach for the bag myself
when she sprang up, walked towards the fireplace and picked up the photograph
on the mantelpiece.

Our only family photograph.

She sat down and touched our parent's faces
and then mine, studying them, our expressions, as she had done so many times
before; the loving faces of our parents and my bright eyes; my sister's scowl
for not getting that certain porcelain doll. It made me laugh every time I
looked at it, but it also reminded me of the time that had passed since this
photo was taken. A decade had come and gone since the fire that took our
parents. A decade and still the thought of it hurt my head and stung my eyes,
bringing forth tears.

They had said 'goodbye' one last time
before they left.

I longed then, for my father to waltz
through the door and ask if we were all set, with a twinkle in his eye, ready
for an adventure. I wanted my mother to come in and kiss me on the forehead and
wish us well and send us off with good luck. I wanted them to smile at me
again, to tell me I was doing the right thing and that I was doing well. But of
course that was never going to happen.

I could wish as hard as I could.

Oh it wasn't as if they were the best
parents in the world. No, far from it. My father was often drunk and took to
tarts regularly. Always the same ones too, I knew them by name for one reason
and one reason only. I prayed my heart out for them every night, wishing them a
better life and a more suitable fate. Poor Bonnie and Lucinda, occasionally
Grace. All very young, beautiful women at the time. Aged around 16, 17. They
should have been reserved for youths like me, instead they had been pushed out
of the working class families as useless girls and been taken in by a woman
called Missus Bertha Tribble; a middle-aged widow who lacked attractive
features and satisfied herself in collecting girls and making money by
exploiting theirs. And now they were being assaulted, daily, by 40 year old
bastards like my father. It was an awful business. I couldn't stand what was
being done to the misfortunate girls but my father thought otherwise. He
believed that visiting them twice or thrice a week would support them
financially, wherefore he decided when I was to turn 18, he would take me to a
whorehouse. He claimed it was so that I too could learn to aid the lower
classes.

And to my horror, to me was presented a
young girl, possibly 13 years of age to do with as I pleased. I refused
absolutely but then decided to appease my father. I would not violate this
child, but if I could stop someone else doing so for an hour, maybe I could
contribute to her welfare that way. I stayed with her and we conversed. At
first she was frightened, but soon she was telling me of her little brother
Tommy, who was stuck at the orphanage. Feeling sympathy for her, I relieved
myself of a shilling for her troubles, so that she could save him in a shorter
span of time. And that was the reality of my father, the one my mother had so
suffered under. Brandy had kept her alive the last few years of her short life.
There's a fine line between cure and poison. She had crossed it regularly. The
poor woman that she was, tortured by her husband's infidelity. But grief has a
way of washing away a person’s sins leaving behind the love they spread and the
right decisions they made, even if the monstrosity of what they were far
outweighed their beauty as a person. Our father and mother had loved us both
very much. Directing that feeling towards each other was what they had had
difficulties with. But it lay in the past.

It felt almost like yesterday when I was
asked to leave my class at the boarding school and was led to the principal's
office. I had feared that I was in trouble, but the man that was behind the
cherry-wood door wasn't the principal, nor was he any other teacher I knew. A
man in a black suit with an equally black bow tie and a crisp white shirt with
neatly folded and starched collar corners that had neither a crease nor a
smudge. A stout stature and red hair are the only bodily features I can
remember clearly. His immaculate attire, top hat and all, and his reassuring
smile and calm attitude increased my nervousness. I felt my pulse quicken
uneasily. Why was I here? I looked at the escort and then back at the man but
neither their expressions nor their postures could help me understand what was
going on.

The man sat me down and told me calmly that
what I was about to hear was going to be a shock to me. His welsh accent was a
surprise that quickly subsided when he paused and wanted me to know that I
would have to process the following information slowly.

Then he spoke.

My mind stopped working.

I choked on my own words as I stuttered

"Wh-what?"

"I'm so very sorry. My deepest
condolences, Mr Ford. It seems the only one who escaped the fire alive was your
aunt, Josephine Henrietta Ford, but we do not know of her whereabouts at this
time. We have alerted the housekeeper at your estate and they will send for
someone to pick you up immediately. As you are an adult and her closest member
of kin, you now have full custody of Emily. And the house and all that is in it
is entailed on you. James Rufus Horatio Ford." He showed me the will and
the line that revealed the inheriting parties.

"The money your parents have left you
is to be split up between the both of you evenly. They possessed a total
of..."

An endless silence passed as his eyes
scanned the page.

"£1036.56."

I almost threw up then, frantically trying
to get up but the man stopped me.

"Please, take a moment to process this
information, I know it's hard...there are a few things that we need to work
out…" he handed me a sheet to sign: it was the adoption sheet for Emily.

I signed in scrawny letters and handed him
the sheet. Then, regardless of his attempts to try and sit me down, I got up
and pushed past him, only to stumble towards the door and lose consciousness...

My sister was five years old then. Too
young to understand but she still remembered our parents clearly. She just
couldn't remember at what point they had disappeared.

She held the photograph close to her chest
cradling it before lowering it down into her suitcase, wrapped in clothing. Her
eyes found mine and I nodded. She handed over her bag and got up from the red
and gold embroidered chair that had once been so dear to mother. Small curls of
blonde hair fell into her face as she rifled through her belongings to see if
she had forgotten anything. Ice blue eyes glinted in the light of the electric
lamps inside as they assessed her own competence prior to this moment. She had
skin as fair as her hair but her freckles gave away her personality. In one
word, free. Maybe a little precarious.

I took her hand and pulled my sister into
my arms. She closed her eyes and I wondered what was awaiting us... Blind
chaos?... But we needed to go.

"Come on, love. We'll miss our
boat!" I whispered and she nodded as I let her go. Heaving the luggage to
the door, I tried to carry the two trunks at once, unsuccessfully. Emily took
her own and managed to carry it, or drag it rather, to the closest cab. Its
stout driver looked up but shook his head, causing his tattered bowler hat to
move out of position; he wasn't on duty yet. Despite the fact that he was not
working however, he put aside the newspaper he had been studying and took Emily's
bag. I eyed him closely, not trusting him at first. Then, slightly irritated, I
remembered. Emily was able to get what she wanted without having to ask for it.
And it always caused me to have to watch for her whereabouts and ultimately her
wellbeing.

I felt our hopes rise as we approached the
next cab driver, so high I feared that they would bump into the signs hanging
over the doors, lit up by the orange street lights on these dark streets. I
ducked instinctively, only realising my actions when Em was shaking with
laughter.

"What on earth are you doing?"
she chuckled.

"Winning the lottery." I
answered, to which she replied with a laugh and an

“Oh? And what’s the prize?”

“Your sweet, sweet smile. What? It’s oh-so
dear to me!” I teased and she boxed my side. Trying to dodge her was not an
option. Laughing, we turned our eyes back to the street.

We found a free cab at last and thankfully
it was on duty. I gave the first driver tuppence, thanking him and he touched
his hat with grubby fingers.

"Thank ye, mister." he smiled
appreciatively and left us in the hands of the new driver, clearly a friend of
his.

We gave the driver the address in
Portsmouth and I helped Emily to get into the hackney cab, following her in. We
leant back into the seating and Emily put her head on my shoulder, trying to
sleep for the couple of hours we would be in this cab. I closed my eyes too,
but only to imagine what it would be like. If it would be the same in Australia
as it had been. I saw the towering gates of the prison and the people; the
villains and the humourless guards, and the irrational inhabitants that had
chosen to move there and make a better life for themselves in the land of
chains. Were we part of their group? Were we as irrational, as thoughtless as
them? Could we exceed the stereotype of the pioneers that braved the dangers of
living in Australia? I thought about it for a second before Emily's even
breathing brought me back to the present. Mustn't think too much. I tried to
clear my head and closed my eyes once more, this time to try and sleep. It was
still very early.

By the time we arrived, Emily was already
fully awake again. She had woken halfway into the journey and had decided not
to go back to sleep, taking in what was around her. She had marvelled at the
little towns and villages and big cities we passed, she had wondered at the
animals in the large fruitful pastures. She wasn't too much of a bother, after
all, we were in the countryside, Em's favourite place in the world. The little
farm houses and cottages that were far from anything, the small hamlets no one
had heard of and the calm, natural feeling of familiarity; of home.

I had a strange dream. Something about a
piece of paper with a rock on it, slowly sinking, pulling me with it. I
couldn’t make out what it was supposed to mean, but I was glad to leave that
land of allegories when we arrived in Portsmouth. We got out of the cab and it
rocked as we set foot outside. I paid the cabdriver the fare and looked around.
It was not crowded; at least people didn’t walk in those unbelievable masses
that seemed to flock around each shop and were the biggest danger for a cab
driver. No, it wasn't like London, it was a little quieter. There were a few
automobiles, more than anywhere else I would guess, even more than in London
which isn’t surprising as it would be incredibly hard to drive. That is, if you
were able to drive at all. There were, however, quite a few hackney cabs that
made their way around town, dropping off people and picking them up. People
like me and Emily. People that ran from and to something. People looking for a
new life or returning to an old one.

I dug my hands into my pockets and pulled
out the tickets for the ship. They were tattered and old. I had bought them
months ago and made the mistake of leaving them on the desk in our study. It
meant that over the span of time I had held them and pondered. What would it be
like? Would I really do this? Would I take Em with me? Thankfully you could
still see the figures on it, printed in black ink. It was one of the new
steamers we were taking. My hands found my pocket watch and I checked the time;
it was 7:43 in the morning. It was Thursday, the 26th day of the 3rd month of
1891. Our ship, the “Aberdeen” was situated by the old Navy Quays, in the
Gunwharf Quays. We were early, she would leave at 09:00 sharp, but I felt that
we should reach our destination for now in order to avoid stress in the more
becoming hours of the day.

I heaved my suitcase along the cobbled
streets of this harbour town.

Time seemed ambiguous in this town. It was
always half crowded, cold, the overcast sky was always one of the many shades
of dirty grey and the pungent odour of fish, rotten food from the weekly
markets, sewage and smoke always graced the people with its presence, be they
locals or foreigners. The only independent factor was the light source; whether
it came from the lanterns or the sky.

We made our way to one of the public
houses. Ramming down the door handle, pulling and heaving in the suitcase was
harder than I thought it would be; I had packed for 6 months. But none the less
I tried, succeeding in the end by pushing and dragging. Em followed suit,
stemming open the door with her hip and pushing herself through the crack that
remained between the heavy door and its frame. Inside were only five or six men
sitting at a separate table. A pitcher of ale rested in each of their hands and
a small sea of bowler hats occupied their heads. Discoloured, worn clothing
hung from their forms.

Dock workers. Of course.

Their small, dark eyes followed us around
the room like a pride of lions. My hand found Emily's and we retreated into the
opposite corner to safety.

"Oi, Travis! Get me summet to drink,
will ye? I'm dyin' o' thirst 'ere." One of the men held up his pitcher and
showed the empty inside to the landlord. He nodded quickly and hurried over,
snatching the metal cup and marching back to his place behind the counter.

The place was homely, with a delicious
warmth that was more than welcome after a morning of travelling. Several tables
and old wooden chairs were tucked into corners. The support beams and white
washed walls gave away the age of the house and the stained wavy glass in the
window that had seemed rustic, I realised, were truly useless as they left what
was behind them a mystery. The gas light lit up the room in an orange glow
which made the place cosier, yet more reminiscent of what we had left behind.
The parlour, the staff, the house...

The landlord looked over at us and I smiled
a pained smile. He took it as a signal and came from behind the counter to
greet us.

"Sorry, mate, didn't see ye. What
would ye like?"

"Do you know if there are any
chophouses around? We're looking for a place to eat. Our boat is leaving at
09:00."

"We're a chop'ouse. But there's one
down the road if yer lookin' for a bigger choice." The man looked at us
expectantly.

"No, we'll stay. What do you
have?" I looked up at him and he smiled victoriously.

"'ouse specialty? We've some new lamb
in, came jus' last night. We 'ave some lamb chops with gravy and carrots."

"Anything else?" I knew Em wasn't
fond of eating young livestock but if that was all they had it would have to
do.

"Nah, sorry, mate. That's all we got
today. This week was busy and our usual pork didn't come in. We're all
out." I turned to Em.

"Just get it, I'm starving!" She
muttred, clutching her shawl closer.

"All right, two lamb chops. And some
tea please if you've got it."

"Course I got it. Who do ye take me
for?" The man chuckled and returned to his place.

"Travis! Hurry up, will ye? I'm
waitin'!" The man called and the landlord nodded respectfully.

Quickly filling a pint in pious dignity, he
slammed the cup of ale onto the counter, resulting in little waves of the drink
spilling over the side and wetting the area around it. The man got up and
walked up to the counter; his feet were loud thuds on the old wooden floor.
Swiftly, he raised the vessel to his lips and drank a swig, drowning his thirst
in beer. His Adam's apple flicked back as he swallowed the bitter drink and he
grinned, revealing teeth that were the colour of what his clothes should have
been. Treacle-brown.

Travis mentally noted the man's reaction
before turning back to the tea.

Licking his lips, the dock worker returned
to his table and the thunder of conversation began again.

A minute later the landlord arrived back at
our table with two mugs of black tea, the colour of rust.

I took a sip of the liquid, putting it back
down in disgust when I realised what it really was. Yet another case of hedge
leaves coloured with red lead.

Write a Review
Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks,
Mimiam

gabita123mb:
This story kept me up all night and the plot was great. I love how the author keep going with the story even though she was not interested in writing it anymore, but you may think "so as she didn't want to continue with it, it might be bad" Nooo is the complete opposite is such a beautiful book a...

alice:
Ok, so at first I didn't like it and didn't really want to like it either, because I thought it was going to be like all the other sexist-werewolf-arranged-marriage stories, with characters that don't actually have a character or opinion. But this one starts off the way but after only a few chapt...

☆☆Julz711☆☆:
Quiet enjoyed the book, although I'm not gonna lie I wanted to know a little further about the ending. .. like did he end up running the company? Did they stay together? What did mom actually do?

VictimOfMyFeelings:
This story is too amazing. Every single detail is spectacular. The plot is very detailed and well planned. The writing style is powerful and at the same time easy to understand. Not to mention that it is edited and doesn’t have grammar mistakes.

Sana Salman:
Simple and too short but gripping. The awakening and prom pushed me into my childhood and now I'm gonna watch Disney's cute animation once again! The thing I like about author, is the writing style. There's not much exaggeration and the story is simply to point. A nice little read if you're fed u...

Sarah Kennedy:
Couldn't put it down once started reading! Loved it so much ❤ def worth reading and so are her other books as this is the 3rd book of hers I've read and can't wait to read the rest! Very talented indeed

Tinkerbelle Leonhardt:
I am a little biased when it comes to this authors work simply because I love the romantic style of his writing. It captivates the innocence within me about how you simply discover the opposite sexes! well worth the read of not just this but any of his books <3

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